mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Living alone, Black folk, and Okra Ok, so I have been living in this apartment for two years now, and I am officially working on my third year. Alone. For the first year and a half, I was living with Mandy. Last six months: Jackassed Roommate. I can't stand sharing space with anyone else. With Mandy, it was all kewl and stuff because, well, I dunno. She gave me hugs and kisses. Jackassed Roommate gave me fruitfly infestations and a chronically messy kitchen. The rat bastard couldn't figure out how to put a damned dish into the Damned Dishwasher. You would think the name would tip him off. And the asshole would look at the gas bill and supposedly say to himself, "Well goddamned... That can't be right. I'll only pay five bucks. Surely gas don't cost that much." I have many times considered pulling a Tony Soprano on Jackass's ass. But I figure since every friggin' thing in the apartment is mine, I have more to lose if I really piss him off. I would be upset if, after taking my chef's knife to his thumbs, he dropped some of my dishes on the floor. That would piss me off to no ends. So, he is out by early evening, July 31. If he doesn't do it himself, shit's going into the garbage. I have already tossed out TONS of his tupperware. And I think that's the only thing he owns in the whole friggin' place. He left it in the sink for at LEAST two months. He used my stuff in the meantime. By that time, they were moldy as week-old dog shit. It felt good throwing them in the dumpster. Jackass deserved it. So, anyway, in the two full years I have lived here, I don't think I have ever had a black person in my apartment. Until Thursday night, that is. And I even invited her! Now, I have nothing against black people at all. I just don't consider myself as having much in common with this whole "black culture" thing. But I met this chick at a Pampered Chef party and she cracked my shit up. We got shushed by the host. How embarrasing. Anyway, I was cooking for the fine ladies at the American Red Cross. Ok, mostly I was cooking to impress the new Apheresis chick who is Hotttt. Her name's Megan. So, I had a lot of food going -- four separate dishes going at one time. I was tired of just cooking and not talking. No friends were home, so I looked Melinda (black chick), gave her a call, and she came over. We shot the shit till like 1am! I know, eh?! She rearranged my magnetic poetry so that she used every single word. An impossible feat, I thought. Then she casually, in passing, volunteered me to help her move on Saturday. Whoa... Passing up several steps in the friendship ladder, aincha? But, I said, "Sure thing. I'm off of work at 1:30. Call me." Which translates to, "Screw that." A black folk at my house. Imagine that. So, I am considering linking the diary to the alumni registry from my old high school, just so the ol' numbnuts from my schoolin' days can read about my antics and judge me accordingly. Picayune folk can judge quicker than Jerry Falwell at a strip club. There is one chick I graduated with. Let's call her, "Anorexic, Balemic, 'Majoring in Fashion', Skinny-Assed Bitch," is cheering for the Fighting Okra of Mississippi Delta Community Hole-in-the-Wall College. Or something like that. Been there once, wasn't impressed. She already flamed me once for making fun of her mascot: The Fighting Okra. THAT'S RIGHT!! THE FIGHTING OKRA! Ol' JP will wait till you are sitting back in your chair. I may have taken quite a while to realize what I want to do with my life. I may work in television. I may want to follow a girl to England. But my life hasn't stooped to a point where I am cheering on a vegetable. Maybe I won't post the diary address after all. 8:30 a.m. - 2001-07-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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